


Operation: Hitched

by pinkfire



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Comedy, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfire/pseuds/pinkfire
Summary: Kun regrets many things, but he especially regrets becoming a secret agent. Never did he read “pretend to be married to your mortal enemy” or “put up with two wacko resort owners” in the job description, but here he is.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Qian Kun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29
Collections: NCT Bigbang Round 1





	Operation: Hitched

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter beta’d by ninchannie. Check out the wonderful art for this fic by YukKanhei(on twt)! Thank you ninchannie for your help and thank you Danie for the wonderful art ♥️
> 
> Thank you to the Nct Bigbang fest mod, too! I’m happy to participate in this fest. 
> 
> I’ll have the next chapter up as soon as I can!

Kun met the devil when he was eleven years old. He took the inconspicuous form of a short blond kid with colorful braces and a pair of overalls, Ten. That was one of his many aliases; Lucifer, Satan, the Antichrist, _Ten._ They were in the same 5th grade class, and Ten was the teacher’s pet with a few sheets worth of golden star stickers next to his name. It made Kun’s one star look miserable in comparison. 

“Are you gonna eat that?” Ten asked, pointing at a grilled cheese sandwich that was already in Kun’s mouth.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Now you’re not!” With a maniacal laugh, Ten was darting across the playground and stuffing Kun’s sandwich into his yapper.

The torment didn’t end there. Ten continued to spread his evil in high school. He was a theater kid, loud and everywhere. Even his sense of style was an attention black hole, either bright and tacky, slutty or both.

“Are you gonna eat that?”

“Yes!” Kun held his fruit snacks defensively against his chest. “You don’t even like fruit, what the hell?”

“Fruit snacks aren’t the same, dipshit.” Ten grabbed Kun’s ear like a teed off mother, tugging at it and squawking loudly enough to get the entire cafeteria’s attention. “Give me the snacks, Qian!”

To make a long story short, Ten got the fruit snacks.

The Antichrist even followed Kun to college and chose the same major, law. Ten hardly followed laws himself. Kun would know. He lived in the neighboring dorm and the walls were paper-thin. Kun could hear everything. _Everything._

Ten was already eating Kun’s ham and swiss bagel when he said, “look, you’re like, hardworking. I trust you to not fuck our project up. ‘Kay, have fun.”

“Ten, wait! This is a _group_ project.” But Ten was already out the door.

Thankfully, Ten dropped out after freshman year, so he didn’t have to deal with him anymore. Not until Ten showed up at the headquarters where Kun works and did god-knows-what to get a job there. What came as the biggest shock is how good Ten is at being a spy; he’s intelligent, cunning, quick on his feet, and full of ridiculous stealth. Kun would totally give him a pat on the back for that if he weren’t competing with him for a promotion.

That brings us to today, where the devil himself still walks the earth. It’s an early morning, so early that the sun is still asleep and the many wide panels of windows on the headquarters are still fogged with condensation. Kun yawns against the thick fabric of his coat’s sleeve (he wears it in the office because Ms. Heo likes to keep all the thermostats at what feels like five degrees below, hard-nipple temperature). The elevator he’s waiting for finally opens, warping his reflection as the silver doors slide out of view, so he scurries in and presses the button for the eleventh floor. 

He sees Ten approaching, blond hair bouncing with purpose in each graceful stride. This man _is_ a Pantene commercial. Kun panics and presses the door closing button multiple times, but Ten is too fast on his little legs. The doors start to close when Ten catches a side in his palm and slips inside. A rush of Chanel perfume fills the space of the elevator.

“Kun,” he whines, stamping his foot against polished tile, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Have some manners!”

“I didn’t see you there,” Kun says, ignoring the swoop in his stomach when the aggressively fast elevator takes off.

Ten huffs like an angered bull, tucking his hands into the crooks of his elbows. “Rude.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open, and Kun takes the opportunity to take rather obvious long strides into the hall, escaping Ten’s pretty-smelling presence. Small taps against the polished tile are heard, approaching fast. “Hey, _hey!_ Where’s my apology?” Ten asks, poking his little finger at the back of Kun’s shoulder.

Kun huffs and turns so quickly that Ten nearly has a head-on collision with him, pointing a firm finger at the slope of Ten’s nose. “You need to learn when to shut up.”

Ten gasps, appalled. “Do _not_ point at me. That’s so aggressive!” He slaps Kun’s hand away.

“No, you’re aggressive. Like a bitey, yappy little chihuahua.”

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a fucking dog?”

This strikes up a loud back-and-forth of useless bickering and awful comebacks. A coworker, already expecting this as a part of mornings in the headquarters, shimmies by against the wall, trying not to get his coffee spilled by Ten’s dramatically flailing arms.

“Boys, enough!” a stern female voice interrupts their lukewarm roast battle.

“Ms. Heo, good morning,” they say in unison, stretching their lips into matching angelic smiles.

“I want to see you both in my office.”

In Ms. Heo’s dim office, Ten and Kun have their chairs as far away as possible, pressed against opposite walls. Ms. Heo sighs, exasperated, rubbing her forehead in disbelief. “You two need to learn to coexist peacefully. You’re my best spies, and I need you to work on a mission. Together.”

They both shoot each other glances from their respective sides of the room, telepathically communicating that there’s no way in hell they’ll work together.

“There’s a new resort that seems suspicious. Nearby residents complain about the smell of marijuana and say it’s some kind of strange sex society,” she continues, reading from her apple monitor. “You’ll have to pose as a married couple.”

“What?” Kun all but squeaks.

“No. No, no, no.” Ten looks like he might be constipated, holding his stomach and contorting his face in disgust.

“No isn’t an option, agent,” she says, pushing a manila folder over the desk. “Investigate the resort or you’re both fired.” 

Kun’s pretty sure this is just a nightmare. He’s had a few other Ten-induced nightmares over the years. If it’s real life, then this has to be god punishing him for stealing copy paper from the printer. But Ms. Heo’s voice will transition into his god-awful marimba tune alarm soon and he’ll wake up, right? _Right?!_

  
  
  
  
  


Wrong. 

Kun _really_ has to do this shit. It feels like some cheesy romantic comedy. One without the romance. He’s not going to magically fall in love with Satan and Beyonce’s lovechild, but he will come home with a headache and an appointment with his therapist. 

To Ten’s dismay, they’re studying the mission during their lunch break. The only way Kun could shut him up was by buying him a sandwich.

“Oh my god.” Ten has a pamphlet from the resort unfolded into a long strip. “Do you know what kind of resort this is?”

“The kind you take vacations in?”

“Shut up, smartass,” Ten says, scrunching his nose in disgust at something he sees in the pamphlet. “Second honeymoon, blah blah blah, igniting the long-extinguished flames of your passion.” He turns his head away, pretending to hurl onto the floor and catching the attention of a few coworkers.

“What the fuck? Lemme see.”

With a quick read-through, Kun discovers that this resort is specifically for couples who’ve been feeling distant toward each other… _physically._ He shivers. The pamphlet focuses on a variety of activities made for couples, some that involve way too much touching, such as couple’s massage sessions. The couple in that particular photograph look like they’re enjoying it too much. He wishes he could just dive into the tile under his feet. He’ll break out in hives if he touches that little shit. 

No wonder they have to pretend to be married, Kun thinks. At least the lack of attraction to Ten part won’t be pretend; he experiences that every day. “Gross.” 

“Anyway,” Ten mumbles through a mouthful of sandwich, skimming through papers in the folder. He pauses to gulp, then grabs his iced tea and takes a long, noisy sip. 

“Anyway?”

“Anyway, who’s gonna wear the pants in this relationship?”

“I hope we’ll both be wearing pants. Oh my god, the pants stay on, Ten! At all times!” Kun places his hands protectively over his nonexistent tits. Ten better not try anything funny. 

A few long moments of Ten staring Kun down later, he sighs and leans against the back of his chair. “Are you being serious?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Your trunk is fucking small. You can’t even fit a body in here,” Ten complains, trying to push one of his three massive suitcases into the back of Kun’s navy Honda Civic with his ass. With him making that face and those grunting noises, this sure doesn’t look right. 

“Why would I _need_ to?” Kun asks, but he can think of a reason. Ten should be short enough to fit, right? “The problem here is you packing your entire apartment.” 

Kun already regrets letting Ten carpool. He loves economically smart choices, but he loves his sanity more. 

“At least I won’t be wearing one pair of sneakers for the whole trip.” Ten looks at Kun’s shoes and raises his eyebrows. Who does he think he is? Miranda Priestly? He simply can’t handle the drip. Besides, Ten himself is wearing a pair of crocs with a single rainbow charm on one. The hypocrisy. 

“Whatever. Why don’t you put the suitcase in the backseat?” He’s honestly had the solution in mind as soon as he saw Ten sitting on his mountain of luggage in the driveway, trying to look like a cute evicted damsel or something. It was just too funny to watch Ten’s face scrunch up and listen to him while he verbally assaulted the suitcase, saying things like _fuck you, you fucking raisin. I can’t believe I put the lingerie in you! You deserve nothing but socks._ Wait, why does he even have lingerie? Knowing Ten, he’s probably planning to seduce a miserably married man. Whatever, that’s better for Kun anyway. 

Ten scratches his nape and huffs. “Yeah, good solution.” 

Once Ten’s luggage is all inside the vehicle, they embark on a three hour trip to Magnolia Resort. Surprisingly, the only arguments that break out in the first hour or so are over the radio. Ten listens to way too many saucy songs. Kun is not having evocative saxophone solos in his vehicle, especially not with Ten here. 

On an unrelated note: thanks to Ten, Kun’s car smells like a Bath and Body Works. He might be annoying, but he makes a way better car freshener than the cardboard tree hanging from his rearview mirror. 

Maybe Ten would be pleasant if he were just a car freshener. But he’s not. God decided to make him a human person with a mouth, for some reason. 

For two hours of the car ride, something magical happens. Kun might even say it’s life-changing. His skin is clear and the crops are thriving. 

Because Ten falls asleep. Halle-fucking-lujah. He looks uncomfortable, head bent forward and messy blond fringe dangling in front of his face, but that’s a Ten problem. 

Kun tries his best to drive carefully, move carefully, and even turns the radio off. He isn’t risking his peace.

Okay. Maybe turning the radio off is overkill; now he’s left with his thoughts about what being fake-married to Ten entails. Calling him honey, wearing matching rings, being in the same room as him at all. Just horrible. Is that car sickness he feels or Ten-intolerance? 

By the time Kun’s parked, Ten is still asleep. 

Kun savors the peace for just a little longer, shutting the car off and taking a peek at Ten, whose position is now an awkward broken neck situation that gives him three chins. Despite that, he looks kind of nice like this, quiet and not giving Kun hell. He has a pretty damn cute button nose, dark lashes, and high cheekbones. 

Ten seems angelic like this.

He stirs, and Kun takes that thought back right away. 

“Ow, fuck,” Ten grumbles, rubbing at his neck. He looks at Kun with these terrifying murder eyes, beady and full of flames from hell. “Why didn’t you wake me up, huh?” He unbuckles and starts unleashing brutal assaults to Kun’s arm. “Stupid cunt!” A smack to the back of the head. “Bitch.” 

“Ow, ow. Hey! This is workplace harassment!” Kun cries. 

He didn’t think Ten could get even more unpleasant, but now Kun knows to steer clear of him when he wakes up from a nap.

It takes five bucks to calm Ten down so they can check in. Of course Kun has to push the dolly, which is so heavy he thinks Ten has nothing but bricks in his suitcases. He’s panting and sweating by the time they enter the lobby. 

It’s a lot nicer than Kun expected. High ceilings paneled with glass, glossy flooring with flecks of different glittering metals, even a massive fountain in the middle. 

“Hurry up, bitch boy.” Ten calls out, snapping his fingers. Kun would love to run him over, maybe leave him squashed like a bitchy little pancake. 

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” 

“Nuh uh uh, honey. You don’t want to sleep on the couch tonight, do you?” Ten lilts, looking over his shoulder to bat his eyelashes innocently. This marriage roleplay doesn’t seem to bother _him._ He was really born with zero ounces of shame and a whole three gallons of the audacity. 

They manage to check in and get to their room without Kun strangling Ten to death, somehow. It would be great if the phrase “bitch boy” was erased from Ten’s vocabulary. Kun hates it when Ten calls him that. He doesn’t even know what that _means._ Maybe he should throw a thesaurus at Ten’s stupid face. 

A refreshing burst of air conditioning hits Kun’s face when Ten opens the door to their room. 

The coolness on his cheeks is vaporized as soon as he walks in. 

“Oh, come on!” Kun whines. 

He’s not sure what he expected, but this red and gold, saucy room sure isn’t it. There’s a damn stripper pole in the corner, and the bathtub is just, like, out there! So much for an escape with a book, a glass of wine, and a warm bath. He wouldn’t be able to do _that_ with Ten’s perv eyes on his titties. 

Ten seems to enjoy it, though. He’s skipping into the room and laughing gleefully, like a kid in a candy shop. “Stop whining, gramps. This is epic!” An over-the-top honeymoon suite is what Ten defines as epic. Figures. 

“You know,” Ten starts, eyebrows doing the worm and one of his tiny hands wrapping around the stripper pole. “I was a stripper for a year.” 

“Funny,” Kun grumbles. 

Ten flicks invisible hair from his shoulder with a sassy head shake before securing both hands on the pole. The most probable outcome of this is Ten busting his ass, Kun thinks. 

But Ten lifts himself into the air with ease and hooks a knee around the pole, extending his other leg and spinning. Easy enough. Then he heaves himself upside down and does the same. Okay, okay. Apparently, he knows how to pole dance. The damn croc in the air isn’t exactly hot, but Kun wouldn’t find Ten hot either way. Even if he was wearing eight-inch heels and lingerie, Ten wouldn’t be… huh. Maybe Kun should stop imagining that. 

“Okay! Stop doing that, for the love of all that’s holy.” 

This is gonna be a long ass mission. 


End file.
